In which the end of summer is like trying to do your own book promo
or, barnes & noble is having a sale and two of my books are in it
Until I was 18, the end of summer had a very particular tell. As we crossed the playing fields on the way back to our cabins from the dining hall at camp, there would be one tree, already bright orange, shining out from all the green. It was the 7th week of summer, so we still had some time, but winter was definitely coming.
A thing about publishing I have never managed to explain fully to my family despite my patience and their reasonable intelligence is how wildly out of control most of it is. Some books become runaway bestsellers (because their publishing houses put a boatload of cash into making it happen). Some authors become overnight successes (because, after years of hard work and generalized obscurity, their publishing houses put a boatload of cash into making it happen). Some authors go on tour and get press coverage and seem to be everywhere (because their publishing houses put a boatload of…you get it). But two things that do not matter one bit in this equation are: the skill of the author and the quality of the book.
(Diana Urban has recently posted about how she was able to gain momentum with her latest book. She’s extremely honest about the whole thing, which I really appreciate.)
Nowadays, the end of summer means something else. I haven’t been “back to school” since 2006, and I don’t have kids of my own, but the habit of restarting (again) in September is ingrained by my childhood and reinforced by capitalism. As usual with arbitrary beginnings and endings, I don’t actually mind. I like the structure. I like pausing to reflect before plunging in again. I don’t even mind the self-inflicted deadline. But late summer, in my opinion, is best spent north of the 400/69 split, in sight of lake and completely surrounded by oak and balsam.
There’s always a sale. Sometimes it’s an eBook deal. Sometimes it’s for pre-orders. Sometimes it’s an Indie bookstore that’s trying to stay alive (please support indie bookstores; they are WAY more likely to treat their employees well than any of the various corporations). Regardless, most of us turn to Canva, because while we’re responsible for our own graphic design, we’re not always good at it. (I will say here that Penguin made me a graphics base for Pretty Furious, which was very nice of them, but it uses paid account elements, so I can’t use it unless I have a free trial.)
Here are some truths about the cottage in August: pack like it’s the Amazon rainforest and the Arctic tundra; it’s easier to jump in the lake and get it over with; the water is warmer than the air so getting out is hard; you did not pack enough socks. It’s predictable in its unpredictability. Also: it’s much more fun when you’ve got your friends with you. Even when there’s no sun. There’s going to be the feeling that you’re running out of time. That no matter what you do, it won’t be enough. You’ll miss out on something important, and it’ll be your fault.
You know, just like publishing. (To be fair: B&N actually sent us a pretty nice brief about how to run our socials during this sale, but if I have to choose between doing promo and writing the next book, I am ALWAYS going to pick the next book. And since I’m at the cottage, I’ll also choose swimming over promo.)
Anyway, two of my books are on sale at Barnes & Noble between now and September 2nd. Crimson Climb and Pretty Furious are both available for 50% off the hardcover (which means they are both less than $10).
Pretty Furious is the story of five good girls who realize that no one is ever going to think they’ve misbehaved, and decide to take advantage of that to get some justice for people they feel their small town has wronged before it’s time for them to leave for university.
Crimson Climb is the story of Qi’ra from the moment she and Han are separated at the space port in Corellia until about 10 seconds before she meets Darth Maul for the first time. It features murder and crime and scheming, and also a Lego Star Wars Indiana Jones-style temple of doom, because it made me happy and no one told me it couldn’t.
(This post is mostly happening because it’s like 15*, so even I don’t want to go swimming right now, but I do have a book that I want to write, so I’m going to spend ten minutes starting at the single orange-tipped tree out the cottage window thinking about all the things I can’t control and then get to it.)